


My Brother Used To Say That

by JEAikman



Series: The Musketeers - prompts and one-shots [19]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, a bit like his "i love you" to constance, d'Artagnan had an older brother, he just kind of accidentally lets everyone know this, mentions of thoughts of self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1351453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When d'Artagnan accidentally lets slip that he had a brother, once, he ends up telling the others the whole sad story<br/>which ends in hugs, but then he lets something else slip (and I'm not saying anyone compares Aramis to Lancelot, but-) and they learn about his mess of a love life, too.<br/>So there are more hugs</p>
<p>That is basically what this fic is, an excuse for hugs. Written mostly for Richefic over on ff.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Brother Used To Say That

They were camped in the woods yet again, on their way to deliver an important missive on behalf of the king, and d'Artagnan looked around at his friends and smiled. Aramis was in charge of cooking, and Porthos was badgering him about how he would make a lovely wife for someone one day. D'Artagnan opened his mouth to make a comment about how Constance would have his head if he suggested that cooking was the only thing a wife was good for, when he remembered, Constance - no, Madame Bonacieux - had betrayed him. Damn. He had managed not to think about it, but in these quiet moments, he almost couldn't bear it. He had a new empathy for Athos and his drinking, though it was a route he refused to allow himself. He couldn't add another burden to his friends lives by becoming a morose drunkard. Instead, he strived to become the best soldier he could. Sighing, he leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He did not notice Athos looking over at him with growing concern, after sharing a look with the others at the lack of usual banter from their young friend.

 

But when d'Artagnan opened his eyes again he was smiling brightly, and if Athos hadn't seen the previous look of utter devastation on his face, he would have been fooled.

"Here you go!" Aramis said brightly as he handed their youngest recruit his share of the soup - which he took gladly, and dug into it heartily. Porthos chuckled.

"Gotta make sure the growin' lad eats his vegetables, right? Or else you'll never grow a beard" He joked, and d'Artagnan just rolled his eyes instead of glaring - he was used to their teasing now.

"Funny," he mused quietly, "my brother used to say that". He immediately froze when he realised that he'd said that out loud and cursed under his breath when Athos turned sharply to stare at him in shock. The other two looked up at him curiously as well.

"You've never mentioned having a brother before." Athos said evenly, questioningly - accusingly, d'Artagnan realised - but the Gascon just shrugged, sighing, before meeting the eyes of the men who he had come to see as his brothers in their own right.

"He's dead." He told them simply, holding Athos' gaze, noting the shock and the sad sympathy behind the troubled Musketeer's eyes. He leaned forward and grasped the young man's shoulder tightly, and d'Artagnan heard all that he meant to say with the touch. Smiling tightly, he nodded his thanks. Porthos and Aramis shared a look, before Aramis cleared his throat,

"So... can you tell us what happened?" He asked softly, wanting d'Artagnan know that they would not press him - not now, anyway, but he had a feeling Athos would, as soon as they were out of earshot of the others. Nonetheless, he smiled at Aramis' kind consideration as he set his bowl down and let out a long sigh.

 

"There's not much to tell, really. He went off to fight in the wars and he never... never came home." His hand went to the sword at his side, "they brought this back, though, said... that he had wanted me to have it." His voice hitched, thinking about the day when the soldiers had been returning - _he had been so excited, searching each face in the hope of finding his brother, but they all just looked at him with pitying gazes until one of them placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head, and apologised for not saving Robert and let the young Charles d'Artagnan sob into his chest until he was too much of a trembling wreck to do anything but be carried home by this stranger, this comrade of his brothers' who spoke as though he had lost a brother himself. He had been the one to hand Charles the sword after informing Alexandre of the circumstances of his eldest son's demise. His eyes had lingered on Charles, asking silently for forgiveness, which he gave freely. But he still felt that hollow ache, that emptiness, long after they had left. He listened to his father cry himself to sleep, but he had no such rest that night. Everywhere he went in his restless wanderings of the house, he was haunted by Robert's... not his presence, but his absence. It was as if part of him had been torn out, some necessary limb wrenched from him. The world was cold, so cold without his brother. He didn't want to live without his brother-_

 

Someone was calling his name, and he blinked, realising when he felt a sharp sting in his cheek that he'd been slapped. He blinked up at Aramis, who was watching him concernedly.

"Sorry" He mumbled, and Porthos snorted and shook his head from over the other side of the fire. Athos was silent, but he was worried.

"Want to talk about it?" Aramis asked softly. D'Artagnan could feel himself shaking as he took a deep breath, Aramis kept a steadying hand on his shoulder, which he was grateful for, as it grounded him firmly in the present. He almost automatically shook his head, but when he saw the looks of concern on their faces, especially Athos', he decided that he owed them the truth.

"I... I didn't cope very well, for the first year." He admitted, "Robert... he was - well, he always had time for me when father was busy with the farm. He always made time to spar with me - at least until he met Helena - he adored her. But she left him, and he was heartbroken, so he became a soldier." He smiled ruefully at the irony, "I remember thinking over and over how _stupid_ he was for enlisting just because of some woman. Now... I suppose I understand where he was coming from" He looked up at Athos and met his eyes when he said that last, and was offered a sad smile in return, "I... at first it... it didn't seem real, I suppose. He was my big brother, always there, always - how could he be gone? And father..." He pulled his arms around himself, "There was only the two of us left, and we didn't exactly talk much." He kept his eyes downcast as he told the next part. "I... everything was just so numb- I just. I wanted to feel _something_ " He couldn't help the way he rubbed at his wrists, which Aramis caught immediately.

"Tell me you didn't." He gasped in horror. D'Artagnan kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to see the disappointment in them.

"No, I thought about it- but I never actually-" And that was all he was going to say on the matter. He wasn't going to say that his father had found him with a knife hovering just above his wrist and had shouted and cried until he was hoarse and held his only living son like he would never let go. They'd been close after that, and then his father had died, and somehow, that had turned into his becoming close with the man he had mistakenly accused of his murder become friends with them all, become a little brother again. Oh god. What if he lost them too? What if-

 

 

He was swept into a hug by Aramis, and was slightly startled to find that there were tears  streaming down his dear friend's face. Aramis was holding onto him as if he could not bear to let go, and d'Artagnan, though confused, found that deeply comforting.

"It's alright, Aramis. It was a long time ago, now. I'm-"

"If you say fine, young man, I will let Porthos punch you" Athos warned from somewhere over Aramis' shoulder, "because that is the last thing you are. We brought up memories you'd likely rather weren't brought to the surface." D'Artagnan couldn't quite find it in himself to smile, but just relax into the warmth that Aramis was offering.

 

"How long ago?" Porthos asked from where he was still tending the fire. He seemed to be content to let the boy have his space for now, seeing as Aramis was providing the physical contact and he didn't want to crowd him, but later, the kid was due for a Porthos-sized bear-hug.

"f...five years." D'Artagnan told him, and Aramis' grip tightened further, even as Athos' eyes darkened. "Seems everything happens five years ago" he mumbled, just loud enough for only Aramis to hear, and he pulled back a little to eye him curiously. D'Artagnan subtly gestured toward Athos with his eyes, and Aramis made a silent "o" of understanding with his mouth. Without letting on any more than that, Aramis just nodded and sighed.

"Well, I can't say I don't understand that feeling, because I do." He told d'Artagnan, thinking back to the weeks and months directly following Savoy. But he had had Porthos and Athos to hold him in the present, to keep him moving forward - d'Artagnan, it seemed, had no such security, but had been left to deal with the loss of his brother in complete solitude. "But hush now, let's not think of such things any more. Best get some rest before we head off. First light, wasn't it, Athos?"  d'Artagnan gaped at Aramis' decision not to press any further, but found himself grateful for it.

 

They settled down for the night, Athos keeping watch as his friends slept - well, Porthos and Aramis were asleep, but d'Artagnan did not seem able to rest. He sighed and went to sit next to the boy, who was lying staring into the dying embers of the fire. When he heard Athos moving and heard him sit down, he turned over, looking up into eyes full of unabashed concern and compassion. He felt ashamed that he hadn't trusted him with this before. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Athos just shook his head, smiling sadly.

"I can understand why you didn't say anything, lad. Of all people, I understand that - so do not feel that it is something you must feel guilty for" d'Artagnan shook his head furiously at that.

"No, I should have trusted you with- especially-" Athos cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head.

 

"It's not about trust, d'Artagnan. And I would not wish for you to feel beholden to tell me your secrets for the simple fact I have told you mine." D'Artagnan smiled a little at Athos' astounding kindness and understanding.

"I... thank you."

 

They were quiet for a time, and d'Artagnan found himself remembering when he'd spent the long quiet nights with nothing to listen to but his brother's breathing, when they'd been young and shared the bed in winter for warmth. It had been so comforting, so safe, held in Robert's arms and listening to the solid and steady thump of his heartbeats. That something so solid and seemingly dependable could be so easily stolen from him seemed impossible. His breath hitched as the memory, and the _absence_ of that touch came back to him. Athos seemed to sense this, and moved closer, pulling d'Artagnan up so that his head rested against his shoulder, causing the young man to look up at him in confusion.

"Athos?"

"Hush and go to sleep, little brother. I'll be here." The older man told him, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as if it were an automatic impulse. D'Artagnan realised that he must have done this with Thomas before he died, and he relaxed into his friend's hold and let his eyes flutter closed. There were shirts and leather between them, but it comforted d'Artagnan to hear, once again, the steady _thud_ of a brother's beating heart.

"I think Rob would have liked you" he murmured as he drifted off into sleep, comfortable in Athos' arms. He had his eyes closed, but he knew Athos was smiling down at him.

"And I know, for a fact, that you and Thomas would have caused no end of mischief and driven me to drink even were there no murderous wife involved."

"You would have loved every second of it, in secret, don't you dare deny it." the young Gascon teased as he yawned.

"I do believe I told you to go to sleep, _mon petit frère."_ D'Artagnan grunted absently, and soon he was peaceful and his soft breaths reassurance enough for Athos that he did not suffer any nightmares. Nevertheless, he was loathe to let him go, partly because of the thought that if he did, it might trouble the boy's dreams, and partly because, in a way, by keeping d'Artagnan safe, he could keep a part of Thomas alive. It was strange, how easily d'Artagnan had fit with them, he had remembered thinking, but now it made perfect sense - he was searching for that guidance and direction that only an older brother could give - and he had found it in Athos, just as Athos had found in his youthful enthusiasm and overconfidence a second Thomas. They were broken pieces that fit together perfectly, it seemed, regaining in each other the ones whom they had lost. Sighing, he was surprised to find that there were tears streaming down his face - when had that happened? When was the last time he'd allowed himself that outlet of emotion? But then, it was not all as surprising as it seemed, seeing as d'Artagnan always seemed able to break down his walls - and damn it all, now he was feeling _everything_ again.

"I don't think I could survive it if anything happened to you," he whispered as he wrapped his arms all the more firmly around the sleeping Gascon. "So do try not to do anything foolish, alright? Like confronting criminals alone - or marrying one. Terrible idea, marriage - but you seem to think so now as well." He looked down, and d'Artagnan's face - free now in sleep of whatever had haunted him in his waking hours. "I just wish you'd tell me who it is that broke your heart. You've been strange these past few weeks, don't think we haven't noticed." Knowing that he would receive no answer tonight, he had to hope that simply holding d'Artagnan close would be comfort enough through the night.

Aramis woke first - he had dreamed of Marsac. It hadn't been a bad dream, as such, but merely a memory of happier times, which was almost worse, remembering the man who he used to be, and then remembering that he had killed him. It was all this talk of d'Artagnan's brother which had brought it up - and hadn't that been a surprise? He had not meant to tell them, that much had been obvious, and Aramis dreaded to think, knowing what he did now, how the boy would react if anything were to befall one of them. Stretching, he went to get up only to stop when he saw the most curious sight.

D'Artagnan's head was laid in Athos' lap whilst the older man was absently stroking his hair to soothe him. Such tender affections were beyond what he had known of his friend, but then again... there was what d'Artagnan had tried to hint to him earlier... but he shook off that thought and merely raised a curious eyebrow in Athos' direction.

"He couldn't sleep" was Athos' only answer, and Aramis accepted it, remembering the haunted look in the young lad's eyes that he never wanted to see again if he could help it. Little wonder that Athos was feeling protective - Aramis had seen how much of a soft spot the man had for their impetuous little Gascon. Still, Aramis gave d'Artagnan a gentle nudge with his boot to wake him,

"Rise in shine, sleeping beauty. We've a long day's ride ahead of us."

"What does that make you," the boy groaned groggily, "my knight in shining armour?" Aramis chuckled, and Porthos, who had heard, snorted.

"If you mean is he Lancelot, then the answer is yes." D'Artagnan screwed his eyes up in confusion momentarily before staring up at Aramis in horror.

"Please tell me you're not that stupid?" Aramis opened his mouth to tell him that of course he wasn't when Porthos came over and sat down next to them all, having packed up his things.

"He gave her the Stare."

"You are an idiot and going to get yourself killed" Athos admonished, whilst d'Artagnan, now that he'd gotten over the shock of _Aramis and the Queen_ , laughed bitterly.

"Nothing good comes from falling in love with a married woman." There was a jaded tone to his voice that spoke like experience, and the others all shared a look above his head as he rubbed his eyes and sat up to stretch, "but if you want to lose either your head or your heart, by all means, go ahead."

 

Understanding and shock passed between the three men who were stood over him, and Aramis was the first to speak.

"I cannot believe that Constance would-" d'Artagnan cut him off by lunging forward and grabbing him by the cuff, the hand that gripped it trembling in anger.

" _Do you think I want to?_ " he demanded, before seeing the surprise and sympathy in Aramis' eyes. "Sorry... sorry. I didn't- I just..." the tears started before he could hold himself in check - head before heart be damned - and before he knew it he was being gathered up in strong, familiar arms - _Porthos._ Porthos' hugs squeezed, but that was good, it made him feel secure enough to get his breathing under control again and compose himself. After taking a moment just to  get his emotions in check, he pulled away from his tall friend, wiping at his eyes furiously before clearing his throat.

"Well, we should be on our way - it wouldn't do to be late." He began packing up his things and buckling his saddlebags onto the horse's back whilst the others watched him with thinly veiled concern.

"d'Artagnan-" Athos began, as he had silently decided with the other two that he should be the one to talk to him, but the Gascon just shrugged off the hand on his shoulder and moved to mount his horse.

"Not now, Athos. I really don't want to talk about it right now. Besides, we have a mission to complete and we do not have the time to waste. Head over heart, right?" It was awful to know that d'Artagnan had become jaded so young, but Athos could not say that he did not sympathise. He knew Constance Bonacieux, though - she was not the type of woman to do this, to play so cruelly with a young man's heart - but then, hadn't he thought that about his wife, as well? But finding out the truth would have to wait.

 

"Alright. You are correct of course, we have our duty to king and country to uphold." He conceded, but he still kept a worried eye on d'Artagnan as they rode.

"Duty..." d'Artagnan mused. If he could hold onto his duty, the belief that he was doing what was right, and if he could hold onto his brothers, he would be alright.

They urged their horses onward and rode their horses almost into the ground to the ground to complete their errand on time. D'Artagnan knew from the looks sent his way that were meant to be subtle that they were going to push him for more eventually, but for now, they'd let him be. As brothers, they understood the need to lick ones wounds, but they would only let him be miserable for so long before they interfered, and he found that he didn't so much mind the thought of that.

 


End file.
